


no reason for reason

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: At any given point in the day, multiple televisions are on, radios are blaring, stereos leaking music; wherever Richie is, his loud voice is usually sayingsomething,whether he’s on the phone or practicing bits or teasing Eddie.The silence is, as he realizes, suspicious, now. Richie being quiet anywhere in the house when he’s home means he’s up to something he doesn’t want Eddie to hear.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 84
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	no reason for reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [punchbowls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punchbowls/gifts).



> written based off a prompt i got on tumblr from [skelesocks](https://skelesocks.tumblr.com) that read: _"ok ive been trying to think of a 90s reddie prompt all day but i havent thought of anything until now after so IF on the off chance you are still taking them:[richie shaves his mustache"](https://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/post/629606819346759680/ok-ive-been-trying-to-think-of-a-90s-reddie-prompt)_

Eddie is incredibly suspicious of silence in his house.

Once upon a time, it would’ve been more suspicious for his house to have noise in it. The only sounds his mother would regularly make that he could hear were the television and her voice, shouting for him. Otherwise, the place would be silent like a crypt, his footsteps the only thing he ever heard echoing in the halls. At the time, he’d grown used to it; now, he knows better.

Now, living with Richie, it’d be strange if the house was quiet for longer than five minutes at a time. At any given point in the day, multiple televisions are on, radios are blaring, stereos leaking music; wherever Richie is, his loud voice is usually saying  _ something,  _ whether he’s on the phone or practicing bits or teasing Eddie. It’s leagues better than the quiet Eddie had lived in before, that he hadn’t even known he’d hated. He relishes the noise now, even if he playfully scolds Richie for it. Richie just makes fun of him for getting used to living in a museum.

The silence is, as he realizes, suspicious, now. Richie being quiet anywhere in the house when he’s home means he’s up to something he doesn’t want Eddie to hear.

“Richie?” Eddie calls from the sofa in their living room. Richie had gotten up from his spot beside Eddie ten minutes ago and vanished without a word about where he was going. The movie they had on had come back from its commercial break, but Richie hadn’t.

There’s a pause, and then Richie shouts back, “I’ll be there in a minute, Eds!”

Eddie doesn’t trust that for a second. He mutes their television before he pushes himself to his feet, abandoning the magazine he’d picked up when Richie left and his attention drifted without the running commentary on their movie.

“Richie,” Eddie says again, this time from the doorway of the living room. No response. “Richie, where did—”

“Eds, I’m fine, go back to the movie!” Richie shouts to him. Eddie realizes his voice is coming from upstairs, so he takes the steps as quickly as he can. On the second-floor landing, Richie says, “Eddie—”

Eddie finally pinpoints his voice and goes to their master bathroom, off their bedroom. The door is shut tight, and Eddie’s heart jumps into his throat. He knocks tentatively. “Richie? Are you okay?” There’s silence again. Eddie’s abruptly terrified. He knocks again, then says, “If you’re sick, I— I can help, there’s—”

“I’m not sick,” Richie tells him from inside the bathroom. There’s a beat, and then Eddie hears Richie sigh before something clatters in their sink. The lock on the door unclicks, and Richie says, “Come in.”

Frowning, Eddie pushes into their bathroom. He’s expecting to find Richie looking pale over the sink, maybe, or wan and slumped over their toilet or something, but he’s not. He looks just as healthy as he had when he’d gotten up from the sofa, except—

“You shaved your mustache,” Eddie says, bewildered. It’s just pointing out the obvious, but he very  _ sincerely  _ means to say  _ “What the fuck have you done,”  _ so stating the obvious is the next best thing.

“Yup,” Richie agrees. The clatter Eddie had heard was him dropping the razor blade into the sink when he was swapping it out to rinse.

_ “Why?”  _ Eddie asks.

“Why?” Richie echoes. He grins, making eye contact with Eddie in the mirror, but he looks nervous. “Does it look bad? I thought you’d like it, you’re always making fun of the mustache.”

“Oh, honey, not because I don’t like it,” Eddie says. He steps up beside Richie and turns his face from the mirror so they can make eye contact on this side of the glass. “You know how handsome you are, don’t you?”

“No, I know you don’t mean it,” Richie says, and Eddie starts to argue, but Richie continues with, “I just meant— I’m just teasing. I don’t know why I shaved it.”

“You don’t know?” Eddie asks. Richie sighs; Eddie strokes the tips of his fingers over the new-smooth skin over his lip, staring down at the spot before his eyes flick back up to Richie’s. Richie’s eyes only stay on his for a moment before they fall down to Eddie’s mouth instead.

“I didn’t want it anymore,” Richie says. “I decided I was done with it so I just— did it.”

Eddie only makes it another second before he starts to laugh. Richie grins, too, and the fear and anxiety falls away from his face just like that. He drops the razor bits back onto their counter before taking Eddie’s face between his hands, sweeping him in for a kiss. They’ve only ever kissed while he had the mustache, so it’s unfamiliar and familiar all at once. When Richie licks into his mouth, spreading Eddie open under him so he can tighten his grip and deepen their kiss until it’s gone impossibly dirty.

When they separate, Eddie inhales sharply, threading his fingers through Richie’s hair at the back of his head. He surveys Richie’s face from this close, only inches away, maybe even less. Their glasses gently tap together as Eddie tips his chin up to let their eyes meet again.

“I think you look good,” Eddie tells him. Richie’s smile makes Eddie grin as he strokes the pad of his thumb across Richie’s upper lip. “I think you look  _ very  _ good.”

“Oh, yeah?” Richie asks.

“Oh, yes, very much,” Eddie says, before surging up into another kiss. Richie laughs into it, just for a breath before he gets with the program, too, turning their kiss from dirty to breathtakingly filthy, this time, until Eddie feels like he can barely stand up on his own, knees weak and stomach _gone_ and his whole body filled with _heat._

“Should I shave my head next?” Richie asks, and Eddie exclaims,  _ “No,”  _ grabbing Richie’s hair tight in his hand and yanking him down into another kiss to prove his point.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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